A Game of Thrones
by Toto Snitram
Summary: This is the first book, A Game of Thrones, of the series A Song of Ice and Fire. The series uses elements and characters based on the original series by George R. R. Martins, but deploys completely different story line, plots as well as twists. It won't be less tragic.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

Will could not wait to see the formidability of the fortress named Winterfell, where Benjen Stark had once been raised and lived in.

Only a year ago, he got caught stealing a loaf of bread and was instantly sent to the Wall (or had his hands chopped off). Yet being only fourteen years of age, Will still had in him a casket full of heroic dreams like many other boys at his age did. He dreamt of becoming a hedge knight, with a squire or two together roaming a realm looking for big castles and services. He passed Winterfell on his way to the Wall back then, but only had a chance to behold its wonder afar.

"Had nineteen castles here at the Wall. Couldn't you see 'em?" Halder once told him.

_They are big enough, these castles_, Will thought, _but too low populated_. _And most of them are dead quiet_.

How strong and fierce the Night's Watch had once been, it now was only a shadow of the past. Though the knowledge was never meant for a new brother like Will to know, he learnt that only three castles at the moment of the nineteen were currently occupied; and even those ones were too grand for the number of brothers that lived there. _I want to see a real castle that is alive, with all the knights and ladies in attendance_. And so did he swiftly volunteered for this voyage.

"We go south today to tell the people what we know," Benjen Stark told everyone on the morning of departure. It was not a cold morning, with here and there proudly stood an evergreen. "For more than three decades now, there has not been a single attack from beyond the Wall. And so our King and lords forget about those dangers. They forget the wildlings and they forget the Night's Watch. Yet troubled time has come again. We have seen, chased and captured a great deal of those free folks recently. They are coming south and they want something. And it's going to be hard for us with our supply right now, were those wildlings at our door. We need support from those southern lords and that is exactly why we're leaving today."

And so they went, not before suffering another speech from Lord Commander Mormont. The Old Bear also had Maester Aemon dispatched ravens to bring the new to every region of the realm. A full week had passed. They'd left the frozen air of the Wall for the cool chill below. As they went, green fields started to appear with farmers and their families, sheep with boy shepherds and even taverns with those buxom wenches. These rare occasions were the only time that the brothers of the Night's Watch could actually feel the taste of summer. They passed Mole's Town unable to get a single drink (Benjen's command) and Queenscrown, where some Targaryen queen had landed on the back of her fire-breathing dragon to visit the Night's Watch. They stopped at the Last Hearth, paid respect to the Lord Umber, a big and ferocious man with the loudest laugh Will'd ever heard. The Lord Umber greeted Benjen cheerfully, as befit the First Ranger of the Night's Watch and brother of his liege lord. He feasted them that same night, with a dozen of courses and wine from the Arbor. Their supply was restocked the next day, and continued to resume their travel. "Tell that goddamn brother of yours I'll come to see him soon!" the Greatjon roared at Benjen, rumbling with his voice and slammed his huge hand onto the Ranger's arm, "We'll see you crows soon". Will didn't see Benjen raising that arm for the rest of the day. They also went across the Dreadfort, but Benjen refused to make a stop, reasoning that they already had a very ample amount of provision.

"Heard that there is bad blood between the Staks and Lords of the Dreadfort. Like a conflict way long time ago." Ferrell told Will that night, with his knife at his fingers picking out dirt.

When the day was almost done, Benjen signalled the column to stop and everyone came to a halt. The brothers gathered together, and positioned before the three leading men. In the middle stood Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, the Black Wolf of Winterfell, tall and stout with a long and stern face. Will had never known Stark, but learnt that over the years he had led many rangings and captured hundreds of wilding. On his left was Eddison Tollett, chief steward, thin and grey-haired. Last stood Yoren, recruiter of the Night's Watch, big of head and small of belly. Will envied his job; the bastard got to travel everywhere.

"Tonight is the last night," Tollett informed. "Tomorrow we'll all sleep in feathered bed like a proper lord."

"Except Jeren, he belongs in a stable, with the lady horses." Pypar shouted, and the crowd exploded with laughter.

Stark stepped forward, and everyone silenced, "Yoren wanted to keep going, but I won't risk the danger. Travelling at night makes us vulnerable to ambush, no matter how close we are right now to Winterfell. Wildings are savage people, and they don't know fear. We must take cautions."

When no one argued, he went on. "I want the perimeter secured, the ground dug and trapped. I want guards all night, three each direction. I want everyone to stay alert. Let's make camps. And we'll resume tomorrow." And to his sides, "Yoren, Tollett, with me."

As part of the rangers, Will took charge of the outer defense. He went to the eastern side of the camp, accompanied by Pypar and Stu. Pyp was always joyful, while Stu quiet and not that talkative. They passed by a group of stewards, trying to raise camps. Another had already set up their wood, preparing fire and supper. Will felt his belly grumbling, unknowing if he was hungry or just excited for the morrow.

"You been at the Watch for a while, Stu. Ever been to Winterfell?" Pyp asked.

"Haven't"

"Too bad"

"Have you, Pyp?" Will asked, looking around for a spot to dig. The day was not over yet, with the last of its cake still being consumed by the mountain. Still, it was getting cold and night might be creeping out sooner than he thought. Better had those fire out as soon as possible.

"Same as Stu, but I've heard lots of stories. I heard about Lord Stark's beautiful daughter, with hair as pretty as autumn leaves and smile as shining as morning bright. I also heard about their godswood at Winterfell, half as big but twice as holy compared to ours."

"Where you heard from?" Stu questioned, suddenly.

"Dareon, of course."

Dareon had been a singer before he got sent to the Wall for fucking some lord's daughter. He'd been everywhere and seen everything. Every night at the dining hall, every brother would surround Dareon, eating and listening to his stories. Sometimes, he also sang. His voice was so high and sweet that Will felt the Wall shuttered its tears. _He can get any maidenhood with that kind of voice_, Will thought. Dareon had been eager to sign up for this trip, but the Old Bear refused him, fearing any trouble that the singer might cause if put too close to any woman.

Stu had already started digging while Pyp was still looking for his spade. Stu was huge and strong, an experienced ranger. No one knew his crime for which he was sent to the Wall. He simply refused to tell anybody. When led to Mormont, he begged for ranger and eventually was assigned one. At his first ranging, it was told that he was the first to reach the wildling camp, killing four of them before his brothers came to assistance. Will had seen him training alone at night, and knew that this freak of a man could be deadly with any weapon. Pyp was more of a clown, always cracking humour. He was two year earlier than Will, yet never had a ranging. Ser Alliser Thorne, our Master-at-Arms, noted the sharpness of Pyp's eyes, and thus gave him the defense on top of the Wall. Pyp always complained how cold it was up there.

They were blessed with dinner later than expected. Hours after they were done digging their area and filling those holes with shortened arrows, Ulmer brought them soups with bread crumbs and few carrots, if luckily a piece of bacon now and then. At least they had all the fire needed to keep them warm. The food that Lord Umber gave was hardly enough for twenty five fully-grown, hungry, and spit-dropping barbarians like them. Will had it with courtesy, while Stu finished it in one go. Pyp did his eating and taking at the same time, like usual.

"…he tried to avoid my sight, but it was daylight, you know. So I took out my bow and a single arrow before putting its head right through the bastard's belly. We took him in, but he died because of infection some days later. My arrow was dirty, I tell 'ya, but not poisonous. Poison is a woman's work."

"Aemon didn't clean it good, I guess. He's aged" Stu said, lying on his back.

"You kidding! His eyes are better than all of us. He has taken care of every single wound that we have, for almost 60 years. 60 fucking years! The man can heal, Stu."

"Then it was you who didn't clean your shit good, Pypar." Stu shrugged, his eyes started to close.

Will laughed, "I'll take the first watch."

Will looked around. At the southern post were Ferrell and Albett, still up with another who was already asleep so Will couldn't tell his name. Only Jax stood watch at the western side now, his two companions clearly sleeping. "'Sup, Willy?" Jax shouted, and Will waved back. Will could hear Stiv Who-Digs-Deep's snore up from the north, rolling beside him Todder the Toddler, notable for his small size. Will couldn't see who the third brother was. All the stewards were apparently sleeping now. Tollett's and Yoren's camps were dark, but light still came out of Stark's. _Maybe wolves do not sleep at night_, Will wondered. _Maybe it's time they hunt_.

Long ago, these surrounding woods were fully inhabited by wolves, Dareon once told everyone. They roamed the area, pushing away human presence. Direwolves were the kings of all. Lions couldn't defeat them. Tiger couldn't beat them down. Lords of the Wood, they are called. Years later, when the Andals came and set their civilization, they chopped down most of the wood and built their strongholds. The wolves drew back to the deeper corners of the wood and had resided there ever since. Sometimes, they still wandered back to the open woods, looking for prey and blood. Men still got attacked viciously, or worse killed by those wolves. Will wondered if any of them were out there right now. Otherwise, the night was silent. Will thought he could hear Dareon's singing back at the Wall. Darkness still walked the land, with its howling windy weapon. Will found himself yawning; it'd been a long day after all. As soon as Pyp woke up and complained about his dream of being crushed beneath the collapse of Winterfell, Will immediately switched his place and went to close his eyes. _Winterfell_, he remembered his last thought.

The ambush started as soon as the last tent had been raised. Two arrows struck at Max's two eyes as he shrieked a gruesome pain and fell down on his back. "Shit! We're under ATTACK!" Stiv screamed, before another arrow thrust through his heart. Tod quickly raised his shield, and after a brief moment found his voice, "Assemble! Assemble, all you bastards!" Will saw Benjen Stark on his horse, pulled up his own shield; Yoren and Toillett also mounted on his side.

"Ferrell, Grenn, run as fast as you can. The first Winterfell outrider you see, you tell them what happens. You hear me?" Stark said.

"Aye! We will." Grenn said, then went with his brother.

"All you, retreat! Retreat together! Get your shield up high! Form a three-quarter circle and slowly retreat to Winterfell." Ben commanded to the rest of the group.

Will heard Stu murmured "Fuck!" before mounting his mare. Will promptly followed him with Pyp, assembling a defensive flank of the party. Albett ran up to Tod and helped him hold off the attack; Will could see dozens of arrowheads sticking out at the back of Tod's shield right now. It wasn't long before the first arrow caught Will's as well. Benjen rode in the middle with the stewards, who awkwardly drew out their swords. _Fuck, these bastards can't even hold a weapon properly_.

"I say after Lord Stark's soldiers 're here. We go after those wildling fucks!" Jax bellowed, an arrow protruded from his left hand.

"Too dangerous," Benjen said, recoiled after an arrow penetrated through his shield. "They know these wood. We don't."

"Inform Lord Stark, I say." Yoren spoke. "Let him send his guards. Let him command the Glovers and the Umbers to send their guards, too. They know their wolfswood. Let them root these wildlings out, I say."

Looking back over his head, Will saw wildlings running down on them from the North, quivers on their hands. Some wore a helmet, some just a feathered hat. Some wore none at all. There were a few of them on the side as well, but not as many. They advanced in such a disorder that displayed no discipline at all. Will looked up, but saw none hiding on the trees. These wildlings must be either very bold, or very stupid because they were so close to Winterfell, the strongest fortified structure of the North. The wildlings kept their distance, not daring to engage. As the black brothers got closer to Winterfell, the free folks seemed to retreat. A hundred yard further, Will did not see any more of their shadow.

That was when Benjen Stark's horse went down. An arrow went through the creature's neck and Will heard its final agonizing neigh. Around fifteen wildlings came at them, running on foot with swords, axes and spears. "Fuck! How…how is this possible?" Toillett stammered, his face a green mask. Having disentangling himself from his dead ride, Benjen withdrew his sword and cut through the first wildling's flesh that came at him. Yoren followed right after Stark, with most of the stewards behind him. Will lowered his shield to draw his sword, but found himself falling down at well. Uproars from two sides of his party came exploding in his ears. Will looked around, and saw more wildlings from the flanks. "Run! Run to Winterfell!" Benjen cried out, before jumping on Toillett's mare, together they run toward the wildlings. Will heard a slash, and saw Albett's head flying.

Will tried to get on Pyp's horse, but the poor thing got shot as well. Pyp jumped right on Stu's, whose rider threw a dagger right between a wildling's eyes. And they ran.

Will looked straight, and saw Benjen cutting through the free folks, already found his way out.

Will looked right, and saw Jax taking a full Morningstar right at his belly.

Will looked back, and saw Todd running past him. Was it true that nobody cared about a dwarf?

Will looked left, and he saw the leader of this raiding party.

He was huge, thick and wore a band behind his blond hair. And on his hand waved a long deadly scythe. The man walked slowly toward Will, toying his weapon and stopped when only a few yards remained between them. "Wintefell!" Will cried out, but before he managed to lift his sword, the scythe already came at him. And it came fast at Will, but the black brother reacted well. He ducked a swing of the scythe, and slashed at the wildling leader, who avoided it. Will parried a hack, but as soon lost his shield. He cut with his two hands firmly gripped on his sword, and for the moment the wilding stepped back. "Night's Watch!" he bellowed, "Robert!" Will lashed right straight, but the wildling quickly moved to the left and Will felt something exploded on his leg. The wildling got his scythe through Will's thigh, and blood eagerly poured out as soon as he removed it. Will uttered a scream of pain before getting down on one knee, losing sense of his grip. "Fuck you!" Will shrieked "I swear to God I…."

The wildling struck his weapon again, this time clean through Will's throat. Red blood squirted out of his mouth, his sound stuttered. His eyes blinked a red tear, hand waving forward trying to grip whatever was sticking in his throat. The wildling lifted up his scythe slowly, and on the same rhythm Will shakily got on his feet, his shirt dyed a color of red. He jerked backward when the wildling violently swung back his scythe, and Will landed on his back; blood sprayed atop his face. As he looked up to the sky, hands covering a hole in his throat, trying somehow to stop the bleeding, he saw a big castle with its towers touching the sky, flying on top a banner of a direwolf.


	2. Chapter 1

**BARRISTAN**

"Hurry up, Lannister!" the king roared, "before I piss myself in a cup and let you drink it."

The boy Lancel hasted to the royal glass and filled it with his newly-fetched liquor. The king had just woken up, but already helped himself with a dozen glasses of wine. His mood wasn't amiable this morning. Ser Barristan had overheard the young squires about how he and the Queen had fought again the previous night, which resulted in Queen Cersei storming out of the chamber angrily. Ser Barristan knew every time they quarrelled, the Queen would go to her baby Tommen's room and stayed there. And they quarrelled all the time. "Robert is a smart man. He does that so he can get Cersei out of the way for the whores, no doubt," Lord Renly once joked.

The king had not touched his breakfast. Well, he commanded that he got drunk first. Lancel Lannister had already gone to the kitchen twice to refill his flask at Robert's rather obscene behest. Young and muscular with his striking golden hair, the boy seemed surprisingly slow and low-witted, different from typical Lannisters. His cousin Tyrek, another squire of the king, was far more intelligent and preferred by Robert. "That's why I give the bastard the easiest job – fetch my wine and give it to me," Robert once said, "and seven hells he fails at that, too." Robert emptied the glass once more, ordered his squire to pour again, and let it there to await his enormous thirst. The king hadn't even been properly dressed yet. Still in his sleeping baggy pants, Robert only managed to cover his upper body with a knitted cardigan, his massive belly still visible. His hair was a tangle of mess, his beard even worse, eyes sleepily wearied.

"Your Grace," a voice from outside – Boros Blount, "the Hand is here."

"Let him in." Robert spoke, almost a roar.

Ser Barristan was changing into his bedclothes last night when Tyrek Lannister informed him of His Grace's private meeting. "I'm afraid you will have to wake up a bit earlier than usual, ser," the boy'd said, courteously. Well, he was used to waking up early, anyways. _When you are old, you don't need the efficient amount of sleep like when you are much younger_. Every morning when day was still barely lit, Ser Barristan would already get himself up. The best thing he wanted to spend his time on was reading the White Book, now and then adding something to it. History was always a fascinating subject for him. He would read about the story of Prince Aemon Targaryen the Dragonknight, died defending his brother King Aegon the Fourth; or the deeds of some famous knights like Ser Duncan the Tall and Ser Arthur Dayne. _Dayne_, that name gave Ser Barristan a tingle in his heart.

If someday he didn't feel like exploring the book, he would stand at his window and look down on the street. He would see hundreds of smallfolks already up getting ready for the day; baker mixing their flours, smiths sharpening their tools, and children (orphans, he'd rather say) running around after shops and shops offering their little service for whatever food they can get to fill their stomach. On rainy days when his windows weren't visible, Ser Barristan would just sit on the edge of his bed, cradling his sword, remembering the old days, all the wars he'd fought. All the upheavals. The rebellion. Robert's Rebellion. When he learned that Jamie Lannister had drawn his white sword of his and….

"Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King," Tyrek Lannister's voice seemingly brought Ser Barristan back, "Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East."

Boros Blount had the door open and Jon Arryn took his way into the king's chamber as Ser Barristan took a close look at the reigning Hand of the King. Having reached the seventy three of his name day, Jon surely had passed his prime. He remembered Arryn sixteen years ago when he bent his knees before Robert and accepted his position as Hand, the man was strong, prudent and wise, a powerful commander and principal strategist of the Robert's Rebellion. Now after all the years running and ruling the realm for Robert, Arryn surely had taken a heavy toll upon himself. Every step now and then, he seemed to nearly fall down. His back bent a little, and his beard long and white a color of cloud as he walked toward the king, who looked down impatiently. When the Hand was safely inside, Ser Boros bowed and took his leave. As he closed the door, Ser Barristan thought he caught a glimpse of Jamie Lannister in his golden armor, his poster straight like a statue.

"Goddamn it, Jon. No need for those courtly rule. This is my fucking chamber. Keep yourself up, I command it." Robert grumped, when Arryn proceeded to bend his knees. "Tyrek, get the Hand a chair." The boy scurried off hurriedly.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Arryn said after firmly seated, "Please pardon me, the walk to your chamber seems to stretch longer to me every year."

"Longer road for you to travel, longer time for me to drink," Robert drank his wine, signaled for another fill, and spoke, "Will you have anything, Jon? Wine? Water?"

"I am fine. Thank you, Your Grace."

"Alright!" Robert said, before turning to the two Lannister squires, "Out! Both of you! Out!" Lancel stood and watched Robert in horror, before Tyrek pulling him out of the room. Nothing was aimed at Ser Barristan.

Robert saw Arryn looking at the Lord Commander, and said again, "Don't worry, Jon! Whatever you have to tell me today is safe with Ser Barristan," and continued before Arryn had a chance to speak, "You look tired, Jon. What's wrong? Is it the boy again?"

Jon spoke, "He got sick anew. The fifth time this month. He cried all night and screamed for his mother. When the handmaiden touched him, he hit her and scratched her face. Lysa then had to bring him to our chamber in the middle of the night, and I'd stayed up ever since." Arryn rubbed his eyes.

Robert Arryn was not born a very healthy child. Ever since when he was a toddler, the heir of the Eyrie had been cursed with sickness. He ailed for several times a month. When something seemed to subdue, another worse found its way into his body. The unfortunate boy had added more pressure to his father, who was already busily occupied with running the country. When the boy wasn't stuck with illness, he got glued to his mother's body. Ser Barristan never recalled seeing Lady Lysa going anywhere without carrying the boy with her. The boy was also extremely whiny, spoiled and graceless. He would refuse to say a single courteous word to anyone, unless his mother forced him to.

"Where in seven hells was Pycelle? Did he help?"

"The Grand Maester gave the boy potions, said it'd help with sleep and the sickness."

"Then the boy is fine," Robert emptied his glass, "Now, tell me why you're here."

"You already had the answer, Robert." Jon spoke, solemnly.

"What? You meant the boy is the reason you're here. I thought Pycelle cured him."

"It's not…it's not only about my son, Robert. It's about my family."

"What do you mean by telling me that, Jon?"

"I am all worn out, Robert." Jon Arryn sighed heavily, "I have run the kingdom for you for sixteen long years. I had been capable back then. I'd had strength in me, to take care of my possessions, and yours. But fire does extinguish, Robert, no matter how strong. And so goes my power, over the years."

The king leaned closer, uneasy by Jon Arryn's words. That was the first time, in sixteen years of his service, Ser Barristan saw the king looking concerned and, a little bit in there, afraid. Even the time when Robert received the news from Casterly Rock that the Lannisport had been surprisingly and viciously attacked by the Greyjoy's Iron Fleet, the king had been angry, but nether once afraid. What he had done after that to the Greyjoys told it all.

He did, indeed, look alarmed right now.

"I can't give you what you want, Jon." Robert Baratheon finally spoke, after seconds of silence, "You know I need you. Westeros needs you. You know I trust only you for this matter."

"I need to care for my family now, Robert." Jon Arryn said, a sadness in his eyes, "It's about my house, my father's and his father's before him. The Arryn bloodline is failing. I'm old. My only heir is sickling in nature. I have no other brothers or cousins or any children from them that bears my name. Should anything happened to my son, the title Lord of the Eyrie goes to a distant grand-nephew of mine, whom I know little about and very doubt that has any blood of the Andals in him. I don't want the name Arryn to cease its existence by me, Robert. I wouldn't dare see my ancestors when I die."

Ser Harold Hardyng, Ser Barristan remembered. A grandson of Jon Arryn's sister, Alys, the lad was reported to be very handsome and gallant. Called by the lords "The Young Falcon", the boy became relatively well-known after he was recognized as the next heir in line after Robert Arryn for the seat of the Vale. Nevertheless, Ser Harold did not really have a close relationship with Jon Arryn. The boy was born and raised in the Vale after the Robert's Rebellion, when Jon Arryn had already left the Eyrie to stay in King's Landing.

"You've been doing this for so long, Jon." Robert said, exhaustively, "If you stepped down, who'd succeed you?"

"I have come up with the list of…possible replacements for my position. Five of them, to be exact." Jon Arryn took out a piece of paper that had been tucked in his pocket.

"Give me one."

Jon flattened the paper and took quite some time before reciting the first name on his list, "Mace Tyrell."

"And you think Tywin Lannister is going to be happy with that?" Robert snorted, "Me naming a past supporter of Aerys Targaryen Hand of the King and not him? Do me a favour and scratch out that name, Jon. And Tywin's too, if his is on your list. I'm sick of Lannisters."

"How about one of your brothers? I'd recommend Stannis. Renly…Renly is too green for me."

"And make my life more miserable by having them follow me around and complain how they should be more favored? Goddamn it, Jon. Nobody is going to like any political deal with Stannis. In fact, nobody likes Stannis. And Renly...Renly is too young for such thing. You're not solving the problem, Jon."

"Then you know my last hope."

That tone from Jon Arryn gave a sparkle in Robert's eyes. "Are you talking about _him_?"

"I'm talking about Eddard Stark, Your Grace."

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of The North, Robert's childhood friend. Both of them were fostered by Jon Arryn at their youth. Eddard had fought beside Robert during the rebellion and became one of the most important players of the war. After the war, Stark had retreated back to the North to grieve for his father's, brother's and sister's death. Ser Barristan had not met the man since, until the Greyjoy's rebellion. The ruler of the North was famous for his sense of duty and justice, but honestly, he didn't see any difference between Eddard Stark and Stannis Baratheon.

"I don't know, Jon. Ned may do. But God forbids, will he accept?"

"I will go myself, Your Grace. I will travel to the North. Whether he'd accept my proposition or not, I think it's likely. His first son and heir is already a grown man. He can leave Winterfell without worry."

The king stood up and walked around for several paces, still giving no attention to cover his belly. He looked out the window, quietly said, "I don't know, Jon. I wish I had not have to take this damn throne. I wish I could just give it to Tywin Lannister and live a life worry-free. I could be just a Lord of Storm's End. I could leave the damn castle and visit you and Ned once a year. No, twice a year. More than that. It'd be so much better, would you agree?

"It'd be, Robert." Arryn nodded his head, "Yet this is our path, our destiny. A man cannot choose his destiny. He must walk it, whether he likes it or not."

"Ned can be here, and he can share his duty with you," Robert said, almost pleadingly, "yet I still need you here, Jon. You will no longer be Hand of the King, but you can be my advisor."

"You don't get it, Robert. I miss the Vale and its people. I have lived there almost all my life. I want the Eyrie and yearn for the view on the Sky castle. I want to live the rest of my life where I have started it."

Robert turned around, finally looking at Arryn for a moment, at his old wrinkled face, "Goddamn it, Jon. I relieve you of your duty as Hand of the King. But you must wait until I come back from Winterfell. And you'd better pray to the Sevens that I return with Eddard Stark."

The world stayed silent for a while.

"I…Thank you, Your Grace. I understand what I have to put you through. I really do." Jon Arryn said, with a relief in his voice.

"You can thank me in front of the court later when I officially announce your retirement. Now, leave me, so I can get back to my wine." Robert said with an inexpressible pain in his voice, turning his back on Jon Arryn again, "Ser Barristan, please escort the Hand out of my chamber."

Ser Barristan moved slowly to Arryn, when he spoke suddenly, "My apology, Your Grace. But there is still one last thing I want to ask of you. And I pray to the Sevens that we discuss it in total private."


End file.
